


What Possesses You

by KatastrophicTodd



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 15:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatastrophicTodd/pseuds/KatastrophicTodd
Summary: He knew Bruce was eyeing him, surely assessing what his son’s young, unchanging face implied. Jason wanted, desperately, to look back and see that stony face. He wanted to know what lied behind those eyes when Bruce realized that he hadn’t aged a day.~ Immortality is a curse that few can bear





	What Possesses You

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to warn whoever has clicked on this story. This is a complete mess, but I've worked on this prompt for months and I think I did my best.
> 
> You're in for a story that cover centuries of Jason being immortal. There are some OCs, all of them children of canon characters. If you're still up for this monster of a one-shot, good luck. I hope you have a good time
> 
> rampageoneshots asked in tumblr: "A one-shot where all of the bat family except Jason Todd have died of old age and are watching from heaven/afterlife as Jason goes mad like Ra’s Al Ghul did due to the Lazarus Pit and they can’t do anything to help because they are dead".
> 
> I'm afraid this isn't as angsty as the person wanted, but I hope it delivers.

**"'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,**

**When men are unprepared and look not for it."**

_Richard III_ (c. 1591), Act III, scene 2, line 64.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

The graveyard was cold. A layer of leaves coated the ground, the sound of them crushing under Jason’s dress shoes was deafening in the eerie atmosphere. It had been six years since he came to this very place to bury his siblings.

He looked up and saw, immediately, the group of people gathered around the hole in the ground. They had always been a numerous family, but today, for Jason, the absences were the only thing he could pay attention to. Dick saw him first. Jason tensed. His brother turned to his left and whispered something to Tim, who looked around until his eyes laded on him. He knew Tim instantly knew. After all, he and Stephanie looked older that Jason now. Stuck at nineteen when everyone else got older, these last years had been a hell for him. Knowing had been worse than the uncertainty, the danger of desperately hoping for the tests to be negative.

He felt eyes on him while he walked through the family cemetery. Alfred would have liked that he was wearing a nice suit. He even wore a tie. Jason smiled sadly at the thought, because he could never see that smile now, could he? He should have been there, by his side, instead of being afraid of Bruce finding out Jason’s cursed nature.

He remembered his first years in the Manor, how Alfred seemed delighted at Jason’s love for reading. All the times Jason convinced him to perform together acts of Hamlet (Jason, of course, in the role of the tortured prince of Denmark). Now, the memories stung. _Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die, passing through nature to eternity_ , Alfred would say with that characteristic accent to a Jason acting broody and dark, too deep into character.

But that wasn’t the truth anymore, was it?

Jason halted, standing at Bruce’s right. The priest kept reading whatever he was supposed to read before the burial. He knew Bruce was eyeing him, surely assessing what his son’s young, unchanging face implied. Jason wanted, desperately, to look back and see that stony face. He wanted to know what lied behind those eyes when Bruce realized that he hadn’t aged a day.

Jason looked at his right, not able to confront the truth. His eyes caught the names on the tombs, the dates below. So young. _Too_ young. His mind started working against him, going back to what he remembered of that night. The night they died.

They had been patrolling together, their little group falling into a wonderful dynamic.

Cassandra shared a look with Jason when Damian, now sixteen, started running ahead, trying to prove himself the fastest. Jason snorted when Cassandra signed:

“Petty.”

They had been practicing together. They had lots of fun talking shit behind everyone else’s back, even if Bruce had caught them when Jason was in the middle of a ‘Bruce is and asshole’ speech. It had been fun, seeing the realization on his face. Cassandra hadn’t been able to stop herself from laughing. Jason had been on monitor duty for a week.

Settling with the family had been a slow process, those three years, but he wouldn’t change a thing. When he moved in, Bruce was very much surprised, but happy nonetheless. It was difficult at times, when Jason was reminded of how much things had changed around. It got better the closer he got to the rest.

“Like father, like son,” Jason signed back, almost missing a ledge in the process.

Cassandra made a noncommittal sound, which only backed up Jason’s statement. He laughed, feeling validated. Yeah, it was nice, having siblings. Sometimes.

Cassandra pushed him, joking around, and Jason fell on the rooftop as she sprinted to join their youngest brother. He groaned at the literal pain in his ass, watching her sneak into the nearby warehouse.

Jason didn’t feel the danger in the air. He didn’t think twice at the smell of gasoline.

Only when the warehouse exploded in front of him, flashbacks of his own death in his mind, did he run.

Now, in the graveyard, inches away from the man that was his dad, Jason thought he knew exactly how Bruce felt that night in Ethiopia.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

The first time Jason saw him, almost nineteen years after he abandoned Talia, was in Gotham. Of course.

The young man was wearing the face his little brother would have had if it hadn't been for his premature death.

Jason felt his heart bleed. His mind could only come up with one word.

_Damian. Damian. Damian. Damian._

This was the reason he stormed out of Nanda Parbat. This had been the beginning of his end.

The boy was eighteen. The boy was staring at him. The boy with Damian's face.

Within the streets of this Gotham, he looked like the Batman kids painted in graffiti: a creature of the darkness that somehow, somewhere, decided to protect the city. No one knew who or what Batman was when Jason was a little kid. It was a legend, a horror tale to tell children when they were naughty.

Robin’s appearance had made him seem friendlier, more real. More _human_.

But this kid, he wanted to stay in the shadows, making the citizens really question if the legendary Batman had crawled out of his grave, centuries after his death, to continue his quest for justice. Jason heard whispers when he arrived, about how Batman might be back, how he seemed so dark and didn’t let anyone see him. How maybe, this time, he was back for vengeance.

This Gotham was so different, so… detached. It made Jason think he really had been part of the golden days, back when the city had been the equivalent of a special horror attraction in the amusement park. Everyone talked shit about the criminal rate, but they kept coming to catch a glimpse of one of the vigilantes in the middle of the night. People wore their logos on the streets, little kids with a bat on their backpacks. Jason had been part of something greater, part of a family that created a symbol. They inspired people. They _saved_ people.

But they didn’t have anyone to save _them_.

He wore the cowl better than Jason had, his cape flowing in the wind, his position perfect. He was designed for this. He was the savior of Gotham. That beautifully broken city that had morphed with the years and Jason could no longer claim as his.

His birth, his fall, the tomb of his family. Centuries had erased the old nightmares to replace them with new horrors. Their legacy turned to legend once again.

But the cape still guarded the streets.

The boy, this Batman, soared to the ground like a predator, the technology (and what was technology anymore?) on his suit would have made Bruce growl in envy. The thought of his father, the destiny he met, was a pain Jason couldn’t shake off.

Batman walked up to him calmly, showing he meant no danger. As if Jason could be afraid of anything at this point. The only nightmare was living.

“Red Hood?” he asked. Jason perked at his old name, a distant memory of young rage.

“Batman?” The incredulity was present in his tone, the sarcasm trying to mask the pain and the weight of all those years.

“Mother said you'd come.” And Jason couldn't completely believe it, but he swore he heard excitement in his voice.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

_“He has that look on his face.” Damian shook his head in disapproval. “He’s going to try again.”_

_“Try?” Cassandra asked by his side._

_“Killing himself.”_

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

The first time had been an accident, eighty three years after the bomb.

Jason had known that there was something very wrong going on with him since the day he came back to life. First it was the madness, the rage, the thirst for blood. But something had changed inside him. There was something _else_ inside him. A voice, a whisper at first, fueling his anger and pain. Prodding him to take the violent path.

And Jason was aware of his own emotions, the instability of his mind. But he brushed it off because the truth was he had every right on earth to feel that way. He had died a violent death, he had been abandoned. He had been _forgotten_. Anyone in his situation would have felt that way.

But when he finally managed to be with his family in a healthy way again, he found the healing had done nothing to get rid of those impulses. Something from him demanded blood, it seemed. And Jason had known what that something might be.

It’s not like he believed for a moment that a second life would come with no cost. It was simple as that. The Pit had given something precious and it called for something in return.

Decades after, he went to Constantine, who had managed to get immortality, and asked him about it. Ancient magic, he had explained with a cigarette between his lips, was based on sacrifice. You get life, you give life. And Jason had certainly given far more than he got.

He had laughed bitterly, knowing Bruce was probably looking smug and satisfied from the grave. Because he was right, Jason shouldn’t have killed. The magic of the Pit saw his tribute and it had granted him the no-death pass. Without Jason asking for it.

Looking back, having been around the al Ghuls, he should have known better.

And there he was, that first time, killing human traffickers in Qurac. It looked like humans were still fucking assholes, no matter the century, and Jason was feeling confident. And then there was an explosion, and he was falling off a building. And he could hear his spine breaking in two against the ground, just before death came to visit.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

_They saw it. All of them saw it. There had been a collective feeling of dread among them. And, like Bruce would put it, they were doomed to see._

_Cassandra and Damian grimaced at the sight. Alfred and Dick gasped. Everyone else waited to see what Death would tell Jason._

_But, to their dismay, Death just watched as Jason was put back together. Wounds closing, spine healing. She frowned and looked and waited. They talked a bit and Jason broke down, learning that he would have to walk the earth for all eternity. The lack of choice. The helplessness._

_And they all watched, they couldn’t do anything else. They watch him beg for death. The saw him cry and try to bargain. They saw how immortality killed all hope._

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

The batcave was dark, and cold, and all the other things that Jason had always loved about it. It defied logic, how a place so vicious and raw could be associated with home, with love. With hope.

The silence would have felt oppressive, but Jason only payed attention to the ghosts. They were in every corner, in every shadow.

He saw Alfred, walking down the stairs to check on them. A secret smile on his face, looking down at his grandchildren running around. Jason wanted to run and hug him and ask all the things he never dared to ask. He wanted to latch onto him and never let go, because Alfred had always felt safe.

He saw the girls bickering in the training area, fists ready to go for a hit. The vitality of Stephanie and the comforting presence of Cassandra. The smile on Barbara’s face while watching them interact. Jason felt a heavy weight on his heart, something hard and cold, blocking the air.

He turned around and saw Tim and Kate hunched over the keyboard. Both looking tired and worn, but determined on finding whatever they were looking for. Whispering to each other.

And close to them was Dick, ruffling little Damian’s hair. The smiles hurt. Ghosts always hurt.

But Jason lost his footing at the image of Bruce, somewhere near the med bay, Duke stitching him up. Practicing, Jason thought. Duke looked so young, but grounded. And Bruce… he looked calm, watching his children.

Jason knew it wasn’t real, that picture of the family he knew. His family. All happy and safe.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and everything crashed, the dream leaving hard truth in front of him.

“Are you well?” The young man asked.

Jason had to will his body to relax. The voice sounded like Damian’s but it had no British accent. Such a tiny detail, but it felt horribly wrong. Like a violation of some sorts.

“I’ve never been okay,” Jason said.

The boy nodded imperceptibly and gestured for him to follow him around. Jason snorted. As if he wouldn’t know his way around the space he had been raised in.

(He also tried not to think about the Manor in ruins just above their heads, a sad reflection of the family’s fate. Or about the cemetery, messy and dirty and not cared-for, the demolished lake house. Jason could still see the glass structure if he squinted just right.)

The new batcomputer was… something else. Jason could never get used to all the new technology around the earth. The foreign forms and liquid screens and glowing lights. It was huge. And the mere sight was like a punch to the gut. Again, it felt like a violation. Because he knew, Jason knew Bruce wouldn’t have liked it. Their dad had always liked practical things. Screens just big enough for him to see, even if it was with the corner of his eyes. He preferred layers before expanse. Something with duller lights and less popping visuals, he always worked better with auditory signals.

Bruce would have punched a hole through that monstrosity by the end of the hour. And Jason knew that. And that felt like the pain was tearing its way through his insides, reminding Jason the last time he saw Bruce alive was at a funeral. Reminding Jason of his dad’s suspicious look. Jason knew he had known. And yet.

And yet, Bruce didn’t look for him.

Bruce had died and Jason didn’t have time to tell him everything. To tell him he loved him, no matter what had happened between them. To tell him he had missed him all the time he was away. To tell him how afraid Jason had been of seeing revulsion on his eyes, had he told Bruce the truth. Jason was a coward, and Bruce had never chased him.

Jason had been so afraid that he had missed their lives.

Cass and Damian died in the explosion. Alfred followed shortly after. Bruce had a heart attack. Dick was shot. Tim, poisoned.

When he finally got his head out of his ass, he could only make up for it with the rest. He moved to the manor with them. Which was ironic, knowing how all of them had been dying to scatter around to their own places, back in the day.

Jason had let his family slip away and die. Avenging them didn’t solve a thing, it only gave him a mission to focus on instead of spiraling down into the Pit Madness. And each time he ended, he was left to a total emptiness, a self-hatred so strong Jason could barely look at himself in the mirror. They wouldn’t have wanted him to kill for them, they would have wished for him to heal and take care of the others. To be strong and good and all the other things he hadn’t been around them. All the things he _refused_ to be around them.

He missed them so much that getting out of bed became impossible. He couldn’t go to the store without wanting to call Alfred for advice, he couldn’t go on patrol without the hope of running into Bruce or Dick or Tim or Cass or Damian. Jason stopped counting the times he fell apart on the rooftops that saw him fly and grow, or how many times he crawled on top of Bruce’s bed like a scared little kid looking for his dad’s comfort. How he howled on Bruce’s pillows. Or how he sat on the floor when he couldn’t sleep, back against the bed, tears dropping on the parquet.

The cave provided some comfort with its low temperature and the silence. It made breathing much harder, all of their suits on display beside his. A reminder that he was the one who got away, the only one who didn’t _deserve_ it.

Stephanie and Duke would walk down the stairs and watch him bawl his eyes sat on the concrete floor. They would bring a blanket and sit with him, sharing the pain. They would turn to him (their faces now decades older than Jason’s) and try to talk. He hated those moments. The deep knowledge that he would have to watch them all die. He would watch his family rot and turn into pieces.

Kate was healthier than any of them, hitting the back of their heads to bring them to the present. Jason always loved that about her, her ability to keep going. How she ran not only her company, but also WE, keeping their legacy. And young Helena… she had turned into a strong woman who wore the cowl with pride and power. Jason liked to think Damian would have approved, that everyone would have approved of how they all raised her with Selina.

She was next, dying in her sleep at the penthouse, where she liked to live with her daughter. Helena stormed into Bruce’s room (now Jason’s) one night, crying and shaking. And he knew. He instantly knew by the look in her eyes. So he pulled up the covers and they both fell asleep wetting the sheets with their tears.

They lived happily some years. Jason never went out much. He started taking care of the house and the meals and the residents as much as he could. It gave him a different kind of purpose, knowing that so many depended on his work. He thought he finally understood how Alfred could do it every day.

Stephanie taught children, even if they were absurdly rich. Jason had the feeling she was also looking for purpose.

Duke was so smart and funny and brilliant. Always knew what to say and when to say it. He went out every night with Helena and took care of the city for them.

Sometimes, Jason and Stephanie talked about it. The emptiness. The inability to fight crime any longer. The feeling of being a disappointment or a shame to the dead. The guilt, always present, when they remembered they had come back when everyone else didn’t.

So he always pushed her to go out and meet friends, date some men. Being fifty something didn’t mean a damn. She should have a happy life. She _deserved_ it. Steph got in a relationship a couple of years after, but it didn’t last. Jason suggested a superhero, but the memories would drive her to anxiety and depressive thoughts, so that was a no-no.

Duke and Claire had twins: Henry and Victoria. They were two little bundles of happiness that lightened every dark corner and hallway in the Manor. Steph, Helena and Jason took care of them when their parents were working. They taught them everything they needed. The three of them would share a look, from time to time, over the babies’ heads trying to decipher how life had taken them down this road. They were happy, raising and scolding them, showing them how their favorite Aunts and Uncle could do several backflips or jump from the handrail on the stairs (whenever Duke or Claire weren’t around, of course).

Helena adopted, to no one’s surprise. And the girl, Ava Wayne, was the best thing that happened to the family. The kids were happy, Jason was delighted, and Steph was determined to teach her everything about their history, their legacy, their tragedy and family.

It was nice, talking about everyone like they were still around. And Jason had some nightmares, but it was okay. The children were smart and perfect, and they were going to make them fucking _succeed_. They would carry on the name. And that they had. Brilliantly, he may add.

But one day, Victoria started using lethal methods. No one treated her differently, least of all Jason. He shared hundreds of talks about their morals and the system. Victoria saw what he saw when he was the Red Hood: the Bat method was good, but not infallible. So, whenever a real threat appeared, one that wouldn’t stay locked or couldn’t be reformed, she hunt them. But Jason could see it in their eyes, how everyone in the Manor thought it was his fault. Him, the clear example of a fuck up that Bruce could never bring himself to lock up in jail. Like his legacy, the mere whisper of a long disappeared vengeful bat, had corrupted young and impressionable Victoria.

He sometimes felt that way, but then she would come to discuss life and philosophy and… Jason would have been a complete fool if he had thought, even just for a second, that someone as brilliant and focused as his niece could have let herself be influenced by someone like Jason Peter Todd.

The atmosphere in the Manor worsened, the house chores didn’t ease him anymore. The talks with Steph turned tense and Duke avoided him. So he focused on taking care of Kate.

She would sometimes confuse him with Bruce or Dick and that fucking _hurt_. But Jason put on a smile and kept feeding her and talking about the past. They talked for hours, about the army and the Bats, about the League and the family. About Renee and how she wished they had had kids of their own.

Kate Kane died on a summer afternoon, watching Jason trim the bushes and cut the grass. He had been telling her about wanting to travel again to Europe, see how it had changed, when he saw her. Eyes lost in the distance, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He had fallen to his knees, cutting one of them with the pruning shears.

Jason left that night, without a word. He didn’t even know why he had done it. It wasn’t like he had any other place in the world. He just roamed. He knew they looked for him, but Jason didn’t know if he could take it, burying them, the kids, their kids’ kids. They would forget about him. The immortal Uncle Jay would become a bedtime story, another fantastic tale. He shouldn’t be a reminder of the wrong path like he had been for Victoria. He didn’t want to cause more pain.

Talia found him on Prague, visiting his favorite European Batcave. The walls were made of skulls and every corridor looked like out of a movie. He had been there once as a kid, he could almost hear Bruce telling him to stop putting his little fingers through the skulls’ nose cavities. Those had been good times. Before everything went to shit. Talia had been waiting for him, by the computer, the third night.

She looked as young as ever, her smirk always on spot. And Jason could just stare at her while she stood and walked over to put her hands on his shoulders. He cried (he seemed to be so fucking fond of crying, back then). She, too, had bargained more than she should with the Pit. She, too, would see the end of all things.

The League hadn’t changed much. But under Talia’s hand it was much more undercover than with Ra’s. The assassins knew him, they bowed their heads when Jason walked past them. He trained again, re-learning all he once had mastered. Until he mastered again, until he was better than before. Talia and him, side by side, teaching a generation of assassins. It had been new. Refreshing.

 _Distracting_.

That’s how Jason missed Duke’s funeral. The message arrived late, and not even the fastest plane could get him in time to bury his brother. Everyone’s disappointment felt like the world on his shoulders. His nieces and nephew hadn’t forgotten about him, he learned. They had blamed everyone but him when he left without a trace. They searched for him night and day. They worried and cried and prayed for his return.

And Jason had failed them in every aspect possible. So he came back and stayed. He took care of them, he started patrolling again. He worried and advised and stood up late wondering if they would return home safe and sound. Helena and Steph stayed mad for a while, even Claire was mad. But they slowly got back to a healthy place.

He was closer to the kids, anyway.

The night Ava got caught in an explosion, Jason felt his soul leave his body. He felt the universe shitting on him and laughing. But she got out barely bruised. She was fine, and alive and between Jason’s arms not even seconds after she stepped out of the Batmobile.

No one could get him off her for ten minutes. Even when he was dry heaving and losing the little control he had left. He just remembered thinking that Bruce hadn’t been even slightly wrong when he overprotected them and worried over every single little thing.

Stephanie’s, Claire’s and Helena’s deaths came years after. Jason was in a good enough place to take the pain, feel it, and let it go. He focused on the kids and their own families. Jason took care of babies again, the Manor felt a little bigger, but he managed to raise them by himself. He taught them everything Stephanie would have taught them. He read all of the classics and fantasy novels. He raised them good and healthy.

And then Victoria was killed.

She had been after a Metropolis meta-human mafia. She had plans to kill their boss. She was found cut in two in a warehouse in the city limits. Henry and Ava saw it in his eyes. They knew what he was about to do. They knew he would avenge her. Both let him go with determination in their eyes. They wished him well.

The following week was a bloodbath. Metropolis’ streets had never been so red. Jason dismembered and cut with Talia’s katanas. He hunted and killed and tortured and destroyed everything in his way.

Rumors of the Red Hood coming back to life emerged. Horror stories about vengeance and blood. Whispers about a Bat of Revenge.

They couldn’t look him in the eyes when he came back to the Manor. He didn’t blame them. They had only known Uncle Jay, the immortal father figure that had raise them.

He sat them and talked. He was leaving. That they shouldn’t feel guilty for it. It was okay. It had been an honor to raise them and their kids. To share the happiness and their best years. Jason really hoped they wouldn’t experience the pain he suffered through his very long life. They cried, he cried. But they would be okay, they had raised extraordinary people. They would honor the family, unlike him.

As he stood, he felt an irrational fear take him over. He wouldn’t see Henry smile anymore. He wouldn’t talk with Ava about sports or weapons. He wouldn’t tell them more stories. No more stories about Cassandra’s kindness and weird sense of humor, or Damian’s artistic skills, or Tim’s memes, or Barbara’s perfect systems, or Bruce’s vulnerable moments. No more Alfred’s funnier comebacks, no more top ten romantic Dick failures.

By losing them he was also losing a lifetime. He would eventually forget all about Tim’s visits and Stephanie’s wit. He would forget Damian and Cassandra and Bruce. Barbara and Dick and ( _oh, God_ ) Alfred. It was like feeling the loss all over again. At once.

But Jason couldn’t let them see him crumble. He had to be strong, for them. That was the least he could do.

He said goodbye to the kids, those beautiful angels that had exasperated and filled him with joy. All of them. Two generations to whom he had told their history. Hoping (wishing, _begging_ ) they would carry their memory. And, with that, he left. Asking to be remembered.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Alexander started.

He was sitting in the giant desk, leaving the big chair to Jason. He felt a pang of guilt. Jason had fled as soon as he discovered that Talia had cloned Damian. He had told himself that it was for the best, he was honoring his little brother’s memory. But the truth was that he had been terrified. He had never been so afraid in his life. Afraid to want it, a reminder of what Damian looked like, a lost piece of himself and everything he loved.

But he had come. To Gotham. As soon as he heard the rumors and saw the news. He had to see him at least once. He _had_ to.

Alexander was family, and Jason desperately needed something to keep him from going back to his dark years. The whispers of the Pit only grew when he left Henry and Ava. They became so loud that Jason couldn’t hear his own thoughts. They were vicious and dark and toxic. And when he finally gave in… it was years of bloodbath and violence.

He couldn’t even imagine what the kids thought about him. Ava and Henry probably erased him from their lives. How could they have kept a promise to a monster like him? Jason couldn’t blame them. He had destroyed a happy lifetime of memories because he had been weak enough to give into the evil inside.

He would be forever grateful for Talia. She found him and calmed him. She took care of all cracks and edges on his shattered mind. She earned her place inside his heart and just like the last time, she welcomed him into her home and gave him power and control over everything she had.

Jason never commented on how he thought having a League of Assassins was a bit useless at the time. He trained and taught and raised yet another generation. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized at how the experience never dulled. He felt the joy and the love of those kids. He adopted one as his.

Teng was a beautiful two year old when Jason first saw her. It was love at first sight. Talia must have thought the same, because just a week after, she was installed in his bedroom with him. With her cradle and a bunch of toys and unisex clothes. Even though this wasn’t the first time he took care of a baby, it was his first at being a dad. It was exhilarating.

Only Jason and Talia were allowed to train her, he didn’t trust anybody else to not hurt her. After training sessions he sat with her and they read together. They did Math and History and Science. And, of course, history of the family. Talia never failed to show up at that one. She would sit with a cup of tea beside Teng and listen to Jason and his overdramatized stories.

There would always be this kind of glint in her eyes, when they talked about Damian. The need to know as much as she could of her only son. Jason tended to go into every detail, whenever that happened. He would remember their fights with especial tenderness, and would laugh like a maniac, explaining Damian and Tim’s weird competition. Talia would always add thing here and there, mostly about Bruce and Jason himself, narrating all the embarrassing details of Jason’s emo phase to his cackling daughter.

But like everyone else around him, Teng grew up. She was so beautiful and fierce. It hurt, looking at her and seeing everything her admired in Barbara, Cassandra, Stephanie, Kate, Victoria… He told her, how strong she was, every day. Jason worked his ass out to be there, whenever she needed him. He saw her and his chest filled with pride and awe.

He couldn’t believe he had raised this woman, and yet there she was, calling him Dad and running the new order of the All-Caste. She wanted to work on the part of the League he had always loved, she said. Jason hugged her so tight she let a huff out of her mouth. He inhaled her scent and placed the softest kiss on her ink dark hair. He loved her more than his life.

She lived a peaceful life (well, as peaceful as a successful assassin’s life can be). She fought side by side with Lady Shiva, she was one of the best. But she refused to be let into immortality. The first time, Jason offered it to her just to be sure she understood that he would give her anything she could ever desire, but she declined, saying she knew the pain it caused him. He didn’t say anything.

The second time, it was Talia who offered. And her methods were far more aggressive. And yet, being in her thirties, Teng declined politely and Jason felt a sudden relief. He didn’t want her daughter to bear the weight immortality put on one’s shoulders. He didn’t want her to be denied the peace of Death. If his daughter wanted a happy human life, he was in no place to oppose. And so he told Talia.

They took care of her, when she approached the end of her days. She sometimes forgot where she was, or what year it was. But she never, not even once, forgot who Jason was. In her deathbed she grasped his hand and smiled and Jason knew. He knew he had given his daughter the best life he could have.

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

_“I think he understands,” Bruce said, a soft smiled grazed his lips._

_“Understand what?” Victoria asked his ‘grandfather’._

_“What I felt for him. For all of them.”_

_The others huffed and groaned a bit, behind them, but they all knew it was true. Jason had gone through a lot. They years the Pit took control were tough for everyone. They saw him kill without a second thought. They saw their son, their brother, their uncle become something vicious and wrong._

_They knew it wasn’t him. Jason was never a saint, but he worked by his rules. They were unavoidable. Seeing him betray his own morals was devastating. Bruce and Cassandra were the most affected by it, because they could see the struggle. They saw how Jason was trying to fight whatever was inside him. They saw him fail, again and again. Until someone else came._

_Until Talia took him away to heal._

_And now, Jason had had what could very well be his happiest life beside her. With Teng._

_“Is this what you all have been doing?” the voice of the newcomer made Bruce turn._

_Jason’s daughter had the form of her youth: radiant, healthy, lethal. She wore a calm smile on her face while she took a look at all of them. Bruce took two steps towards her and smiled for the first time in a while._

_“I’m your—” he started._

_“Grandfather,” she cut him off. “I know. I know all about you. Dad would always tell these crazy stories about all of you.”_

_They all welcomed her. She instantly recognized Victoria, with her dyed white hair and the tattoo in Latin on her arm: ‘Sic transit gloria mundi’. She hesitated a little, when Cassandra came to her._

_“Okay?” Cassandra asked, cocking her head._

_“He always said I reminded him of you,” Teng explained. She had grown with the idea of all these people who were literal legends. And now they were there, talking and very much real._

_With a beaming smile, and a pat to the head, Cassandra said:_

_“Good.”_

ᴥ

 

 

“I have some things you may want,” Alexander continued when Jason didn’t talk, “I rescued them from the ruins.”

That perked Jason’s interest. The boy led him further into the cave, to the part where they used to keep spare suits in, centuries ago.

“How old are you?” Jason asked, even in he already knew the answer.

“Eighteen,” Alexander offered calmly.

“And Talia let you leave nest?” Jason couldn’t believe it. He was too young. Surely, Talia would have tried to keep him around for another five years, at least.

“She didn’t.”

The boy didn’t look at him, apparently occupied with his search.

“You…” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You left.”

And when the other one didn’t answer:

“You _left_.”

“So did you,” Alexander looked over his shoulder with raising his eyebrow.

Jason was going to punch him. He really was. There was something so _Bruce_ about that expression that it made it hard for Jason to tell them apart for a second.

“I may have thought that I wasn’t prepared to face some things,” Jason said through gritted teeth.

“You mean me,” the boy insisted.

“For fucks sake! Yes!” Jason rose his arms. “Of course I mean you. You wear my little brother’s _face_.”

“Then why did you come?”

His relaxed voice made Jason nervous. He was used to fiery tempers, to petty quarrels and heated discussions. And then he realized he was thinking about Damian’s character, not Alexander’s. As much as he looked like him, the boy was his own person.

“Because you are family,” he explained, “and family means no one gets left behind.”

Jason smiled at the reference, almost hearing Dick’s laugh at the sappiness. He could feel Alfred’s incredulous expression.

Alexander turned. And for the first time, Jason saw past the façade. And what he saw made him feel ashamed. Ashamed of not giving him a chance before, of not being strong enough to raise another kid. Because that’s what he was. Jason sometimes forgot how young people who looked like him really were. He forgot that not all of them were cursed.

“Family,” Alexander said in awe. As if the word was a foreign, unreachable thing.

“I’m sorry,” Jason got closer, “I know I should have been there.”

“May I call you brother?” His eagerness was clear.

“Not sure we’re there yet, baby bat.” He tried not to pay attention to the anxiety that word caused, not realizing he had unconsciously taken a few steps back.

“Of course.” The calm of the façade was back when Alexander resumed his search.

Jason tried to think of something else to say, but he didn’t know the kid. He was just a stranger wearing a familiar face. But Jason had decided he was going to try, even if it hurt. No matter how slow the process would turn out to be.

Just when Jason was going to open his mouth, Alexander dropped a big box very near Jason’s feet.

“This is one of them,” he huffed, “figured you might want to keep some of these.”

Jason crouched down when he saw a familiar worn-out photograph. It was… well, him. He was circling Duke and Stephanie with his arms. Helena was at their left, smirking at the camera. And just before them, there were the kids. Ava stood before Helena, her smile reserved and her blonde hair resting on her shoulders. Henry and Victoria were at her side, before Duke, who smiled down at them. Stephanie had her head inclined towards Jason’s, and he had his in the same position. Their heads touching, their smiles matching. Their paths couldn’t have diverged more, in the end.

It was too much, all of a sudden.

He heard Alexander ask if he was okay when Jason let his ass drop to the ground. He felt dizzy.

“Where did you find this?” Jason’s soft whisper was barely audible. He showed him the photograph.

Alexander inspected it with a furrowed brow.

“It was in the den,” he concluded, “you appeared in a lot of photographs, but I couldn’t save them all. Time had erased far too much,” Alexander explained, looking apologetic.

In the den. For everyone in the family to see. For the kids to see. They hadn’t erased him, they hadn’t erased their life together. Not even when he went Pit-mad. They kept their promise. The kids had known him. Probably their kids, too.

It was strange, feeling relief over something so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. But they had honored him. They had remembered his love and his smile. They had let him be part of the family lore, deemed him worthy of being in the family den.

Through his tears, he smiled.

“You’ll learn, Alex,” Jason croaked. “You’ll learn that this family is really something else.”

He laughed, wiping the snot with his sleeve. Alexander looked at him like he had lost all sense, but Jason knew, for the first time, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. It wasn’t just a name, it wasn’t just a legend. Jason had kept their memory alive with him, not raising different families, but rather adding members to an existing one. They were all connected, because they were all his. And if he was never to meet his final Death, at least he could make sure all of them were remembered.

“Has Talia ever told you how Bruce would secretly listen to the Bee Gees and The Corrs?” Jason looked at the young man. He arched his eyebrow just like Bruce used to do when Jason was twelve and started ranting excitedly.

“What’s a _bee gee_?”

“Come. Sit.” Jason patted the floor beside him. “This is gonna be a long story.”

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

_“Do any of you want to cross already?” Death sighed, watching the group._

_Bruce looked around._

_“Feel free to go. I will wait for them,” he assured._

_“I’ll stay,” Teng stood at his right._

_They refused, one by one, Death’s offer. They would wait until all the family joined._

_“I’ll find a way,” Death promised. She would grant Jason peace, she would let them reunite._

_It was written._

 

 

ᴥ

 

 

**"If I must die,**

**I will encounter darkness as a bride,**

**And hug it in mine arms."**

_Measure for Measure_ , Act III, scene 1, line 83.

**Author's Note:**

> If you kept reading till the end: thank you for the support and the patience.
> 
> Please leave kudos and a comment telling me what you liked!!
> 
> I accept prompts for one-shots on my side [tumblr](https://anchinoe.tumblr.com/)! (although it can take me some time, if I'm not really inspired.) 
> 
> If you wanna follow me on my main Tumblr [here](https://kat-astrophic-todd.tumblr.com)!


End file.
